


More Real (Your Brutal Truth)

by demonsonthemoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender or Sex Swap, Masturbation, Non-Binary Sam Winchester, Trans Sam Winchester, magic-induced sex swap, mature rating is there for one scene of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: Dean accidentally gets hit with a "gender-affirming potion." Except that, for him, it's anything but affirming. The hunting life hasn't really equipped him to deal with the fact that he's stuck in a female body for the next few months.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	More Real (Your Brutal Truth)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Against Me!'s "Delicate, Petite & Other Things I'll Never Be."
> 
> I've seen some discourse going around about the "inherent transphobia" of certain fanfic tropes like genderbent AUs, mpreg or sex swaps. Those posts made me realize that I hadn't read any new sex swap stories in a while, despite them being hugely popular a while back. Now, that might be in part due to the fact that they were especially popular in the Supernatural fandom and that I had moved away from it, but I also think there genuinely aren't as many of them as they were before. Anyway, the point is that I've always enjoyed them, and while they can indeed rely on transphobic and essentialistic stereotypes there's also just SO MUCH potential for gender exploration in them.
> 
> And this is why I decided to rub my greedy little trans hands all over the trope, because I will always prefer subvertion over cancellation.
> 
> The fic is set at a nebulous point in the early seasons.

“You sold me out, you bitch, you-” The second witch jumped at Elena before either Dean or Sam got the time to draw their weapons. She wasn't supposed to arrive this soon, they hadn't been ready, and if they didn't do something, one more person would get hurt. Sure, said person was a witch, and usually Dean would have said good riddance to her, but Sam had done a thorough job of convincing him that not all witches were the same, and Elena had actually been helpful so...

So Dean jumped into the fray, dragging the second witch (he couldn't help but call her The Evil Witch in his mind) away from Elena. The woman whispered a spell, and Dean was tossed across the room, hitting a set of shelves. His vision darkened, but at least he had the satisfaction of hearing a shot ring out before he lost consciousness. Sam would do what he had to do, Dean wasn't worried.

Turns out he _should_ have been worried. But not about the Evil Witch. About the bottles that had been broken in his fall and whose content had been splashed all over him.

“And there's no way you can change him back? Give him the opposite potion so the effects counteract each other.”

“That's not how it works, the potion acts on your current shape, if we tried to turn him back that way, his body wouldn't be right. If it worked at all. The spell is _designed_ to be unbreakable. That's what it's _for_. But it's only temporary, it won't do any damage. He'll just turn back to his normal body after a while.”

“How long?”

“It depends on the person, on the metabolism. I can't say...”

“Give me an estimate.”

“Between two to four months? Sometimes it lasts longer than that, but usually not less.”

“Four months. He has to stay like this for four months?”

Dean figured it was past time he woke up properly and found out what this conversation was all about. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer on the floor, but had been moved to a couch. That meant he'd probably been out of it for a little while, which wasn't great news. Sam and Dean really couldn't keep getting knocked out as much as they did and still avoid brain damage. Statistically speaking, it would be a miracle.

He opened his eyes slowly, mindful of any potential headache.

“And he's just... He's fully...”

“Yes,” Elena replied through gritted teeth. “I told you, that's what those potions _do_.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it, I just...”

Dean sat up, and the movement must have caught Sam's gaze because he immediately moved towards him.

“Dean. Hey. How are you feeling?”

Dean stretched his shoulders, still coming back from the haze of unconsciousness. “I'm fine.” His voice sounded weird, so he coughed a little.

“Don't freak out, okay? But there's been... an issue.”

“This is literally the worst way you could have phrased it if you didn't want me to freak out.”

Wow. His voice really did sound weird. What was up with that?

He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake out his wooziness. His cheeks were... surprisingly soft. He'd shaved that morning, sure, but it was nearly evening know, so his five o'clock shadow should have already settled in.

“You broke some potions when you fell. Nothing dangerous, okay? But you're...”

Dean pushed his brother away, sitting up straighter. He looked down at himself.

“What the fuck?”

“They're gender-affirming potions,” Elena said, drawing Dean's attention away from what were definitely breasts on his chest. “It's not dark magic. It helps some people, when they can't access hormones or surgery.”

“Gender-affirming potions?”

“You know,” Sam replied awkwardly. “For transgender people. It's like...” He winced. “A sex change.”

Dean looked down at himself again. At his breasts and the way his t-shirt fell awkwardly over them, too large for his frame. At his jeans beyond that, and the way they were too large around his hips despite the belt that was supposed to hold them in place.

“What the actual fuck?” He couldn't help himself and put a hand to his chest, cupping one of his boobs just to make sure that it was really there, that it was real.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed in protest.

He could take his prudishness somewhere else though, because Dean was  _freaking out._ “You mean that I'm a woman now?”

“Your body's female, yes,” Elena explained. “Temporarily.”

“You need to change me back.”

“Like I told your brother, I can't. No one can.”

“This is bullshit. I can't just be-”

“Dean, come on, it's not her fault.”

Dean was about to protest again, because it was definitely not  _his_ fault either, this was what he got for trying to help a witch, he'd known it was a bad idea... He stopped when he noticed the expression on Elena's face. She wasn't revelling in this like someone who had just gotten their ways or played a bad joke. She looked sorry and, more importantly, she looked scared.

Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

“Okay. Fine. So, what do we do? We just... wait? I'm just supposed to live like this for several _months_ and pretend everything's fine?”

Elena shrugged. “Loads of people do it. For what it's worth, I really am sorry. This is the opposite of what those potions are meant for.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. If you can't help, we'd better just go. Before another one of your spell goes off in a way it isn't meant to.”

Dean knew he was being too harsh, but he couldn't help it. The way his voice sounded kept irritating him, and now that he'd noticed it, he could feel the ways in which his body wasn't the same as before. He felt like he had a good excuse for being snappish.

He'd pulled his belt as tight as it would go and still needed to regularly pull his jeans up from where they threatened to fall off his frame. What a ridiculous situation.

He'd had to pull the bench-seat forward in the impala to reach the pedals comfortably, because turning into a woman had apparently also made him a good two inches shorter. Which was bullshit. Tall women existed.

He'd thrown a glare Sam's way, daring him to comment or complain about how he was missing his leg room. His brother hadn't said anything. He kept giving Dean short glances out of the corner of his eyes as he drove. It pissed Dean off, although the rational part of him knew that it was normal for Sam to be freaking out about this as well.

Dean got out of the car as soon as they'd pulled into the parking lot of the motel they'd booked the night before. He made a beeline for their room and didn't even wait for Sam to walk in before he locked himself into the bathroom.

With some trepidation, Dean started pulling off his clothes, starting with his shoes and jeans, then his t-shirt, until he was standing in his boxers and socks.

He raised his eyes and looked into the mirror.

For a while, he couldn't move. It as possibly the strangest thing he'd ever experienced. The reflection looking back at him was both decidedly him and _not him_. His face was thinner and a little softer than it had been, without any visible facial hair. But at the same time, his eyes were exactly the same as they'd been before, just like his hair.

Then there were the more _obvious_ difference, i.e. his chest. He had boobs. Not too small either. Once again, he couldn't resist the urge to grab them, just to check that they were really there, that they were really his.

Touching them was weird. Not _bad_ weird, but not really _good_ weird either. Considering how much he liked touching girls' breasts, he was kind of confused that the only feeling being able to grab his own provided him with was bewilderment.

Dean stared at his boxers. He knew he needed to check. Knew he _wanted_ to check. To be honest, he already knew that the change was as complete as Elena had promised. But he couldn't _not_ check, right?

So he dropped his underwear and looked at himself. He looked and he felt... not much, really. That was weird, right? That was most definitely weird. He had a vagina, for fuck's sake. Of course he was supposed to feel something.

Dean had heard his brother close the door, so he knew that he was sitting in the next room, being thoughtful and giving him space. It made him feel a little guilty about what he did next, but once again... He couldn't _not,_ right?

So he touched himself. Just a little. Just to see what it felt like. He let his fingers skim over the lips of his vagina, then trailed them upwards to gently press against his clit.

This was so weird.

This was so, _so_ weird.

He stopped. He stopped before the sensation became more than that. A _sensation_ , not yet really pleasure. He pulled his hand away and closed his eyes for a moment. Breathing.

His pulled up his boxers, put on his t-shirt again, and gathered his jeans in his arms. He didn't want to put them on again, not if they kept falling down. He had some sweatpants in his duffel. Those might hold better.

Four months. He was supposed to stay like this for four months.

_Fuck_ . He was going to have to shop for clothes.

Sam didn't comment on his state of undress when he came out. “You okay?”

Dean shrugged. “I'm fine.”

“Dean-”

“Look, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay? I just got turned into a girl by a witch and am going to have to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I don't know how I fucking feel about it. Weird. I feel weird! But I'm fine, and talking about it isn't going to change things.” He dropped his jeans on his bed, then turned to his duffel and put on his sweatpants. Back turned to Sam, he added: “I'm gonna need to buy some clothes.”

“Yeah. Right. We... We can go tomorrow. I can... I'll grab some takeout for us to eat, okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. Good idea.”

“Okay.”

When Dean didn't add anything, Sam grabbed his wallet and moved to leave the room.

“Don't forget the pie!” Dean called after him, finally turning to face him.

“Of course not,” Sam said with a smile.

A kind smile.

He closed the door and Dean groaned. He knew he was about to be on the receiving end of a lot of those smiles in the coming week. Which was bullshit. His body had turned female. It wasn't as if he was sick or anything.

Dean put a hand on his stomach.

_Shit_ . Elena had said that her potion turned your body fully into that of another sex. Did that mean he was going to have his period?

Going clothes shopping the next day was just as awkward as Dean had anticipated. He dragged Sam into a Goodwill, figuring that at least in a second-hand store no one would find him weird for picking up way too many items and trying all of them on. It took him five tries to find a pair of jeans that actually fit him. He put a skirt into his basket without trying it on and without looking at Sam. Shirts were easier, although most t-shirts were annoyingly thin and let the shape of his nipples show through.

How was he even supposed to begin figuring out his bra size?

He categorically refused to set foot in a lingerie store. The small little shops all had women wearing bright friendly smiles in them, and he knew they would ask him whether he needed help and he would have no idea how to reply and he just  _wouldn't_ . So they went into a department store, and Sam hovered over him awkwardly as he walked to the underwear department.

Finding out that sports bra came in standard shirt sizes was a relief. Dean was ready to take a pass on the chance to wear sexy underwear if it meant not having to try on 5 different bras. So he took two of the sports one in the same size as his t-shirts and didn't look at Sam until they were back in the car.

They went back to their motel room. They'd booked another night since they didn't already have a new hunt planned. (Technically,  _Sam_ had booked another night, because Dean didn't really want to know how the reception clerk would react if he saw his new face.)

“Go ahead if you want to...” Sam started, gesturing towards the bathroom.

Dean sighed, but carried the bags of new clothes inside with him.

Changing was slightly easier than it had been the day before. He wasn't  _used_ to his new body, far from it. But at least the ways it moved and the new sensations had stopped being as foreign. At least it felt like  _his_ body again. Different, but still his.

Dean pulled out one of the two pairs of jeans he'd bought. It had strass lining the pockets, which Dean didn't feel great about, but well. When in Rome.

He put those on over his boxers (He was  _not_ going to wear panties. Out of the question. Especially not with his  _brother_ there.), then put on the sports bra. The sensation was weird, but not much more than the feeling of his boobs moving when he walked had been. He put a branded white t-shirt over it. Finding a  _simple_ t-shirt that didn't have a horrifying design printed on it had been surprisingly difficult. This one had been his only decent find, but Dean had figured that he could always just wear his regular stuff. Oversized shirts were a thing with women, right?

He finished his outfit by putting the flannel he'd picked that morning back on. It was warm enough outside to go without, he supposed, but he wasn't ready to relinquish his layers. He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, then stared at his reflection.

He walked out of the bathroom.

“I look like a lesbian.”

Sam looked up from his laptop, where he'd probably been looking for a new case. “What do you- Oh.” He started laughing, then tried to hide the giggles behind his hand.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on. Don't be shy. I said it first.”

Sam tilted his head to the side, still laughing slightly. “I mean... Yeah. You kind of do. Jeans and flannel, you know?”

“I'm not going to wear one of those floral blouses, absolutely not happening.”

“But, well, it's not a bad thing, is it? I mean, you do like women, so...”

“Yeah. _Straight_ women. 'Cause I'm a guy.”

“I know! I know, dude, I just mean... I just mean it's not too bad if people assume you're a lesbian. Might stop some straight guys from trying to flirt with you.”

Dean grimaced at the possibility. He had already considered it, had in fact spent most of the morning avoiding looking at people's faces so as to ward off any attention.

The thing was, he didn't care if it was a guy or a girl. The idea of anyone flirting with him while he was in this body just felt  _wrong_ . He wasn't about to explain that to Sam though, because the man was too smart for his own good and might pick up on the subtexts that there  _were_ times when Dean would be comfortable getting flirted on by a guy, and that was one of many conversations that Dean  _didn't_ want to have with his brother. “I  _guess_ .”

“Hey. Don't worry about it. You look fine.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It did get easier after that. Once he got past his original discomfort, Dean set out to explore the possibilities of this new body more thoroughly. He wasn't about to wear a sexy dress or whatever, but he just let himself... be. Stopped hunching in on himself to hide away, which didn't feel natural to him in any body. He let his body be a body, and found it quite interesting to notice the differences between how people interacted with him now in comparaison to before. Especially women. Comments that would have obviously been taken as attempts to flirt in his old body were now received like honest compliments. He never got anything more than a smile and a thank you out of them, but there was often something so honest in that smile that Dean couldn't feel mad about it. Sam – who was in on the joke, obviously – found it kind of hilarious.

Another thing that was seriously throwing off Dean's flirting game was the fact that he and Sam kept being mistaken as a couple. And sure, considering that this had happened before when they  _both_ looked like guys should have prepared him for it, but it was still infuriating. A girl and a guy could hang out together without being a couple. And, yes, Dean and Sam had different hair colors and body types, but they were still  _brothers_ . Couldn't people see that?

Dean's exploration of his female body also took a more... hands on turn. Becoming female didn't mean that he'd lost his libido. Besides, weren't all guys curious about what sex felt like for girls? So Dean touched himself. In the shower, like he usually did, because Sam was always in the next room. (It was frustrating sometimes, but Dean would never trade privacy for the sense of loneliness that had settled in his bones when Sam had left for Stanford.)

He quickly figured out that sitting down would be a lot easier that staying up. So he did just that, settling himself on the tile of the shower floor, back to the wall, and spreading his legs.

He watched his fingers trail the length of his vagina to settle on his clit. He rubbed against it sotfly, experimentally. The sensation was strange, diffuse and too much all at once, like he was already overstimulated despite barely feeling anything.

He kept going. Soon the sensations changed, growing more familiar along with his arousal. He trailed his fingers lower once again, between the lips of his cunt and... yeah. He was wet. The sensation was a complete mindfuck, and Dean had to close his eyes as he slipped a finger inside of himself. Once again, the feeling wasn't what he'd expected. Not that he'd consciously  _imagined_ something but... yeah. He moved his finger around a little, trying to keep on rubbing his clit with his other hand at the same time. The angle wasn't great, which was  _really_ frustrating. He pushed another finger inside himself, still not looking, curled them upwards a little and... okay. He felt... something. Something good. He kept pushing in and out, a little more insistantly and maybe... he used his thumb on the same hand to rub against his clit as he moved and that was... really nice.

He felt his muscles clench as his orgasm approached, speeding up his rhythm even as his wrist started to hurt, frustration growing as he teetered on the edge.

And then the spasms started, and Dean struggled to keep any kind of rhythm at all as the sensation washed through him in several waves.

He stayed sitting for a few seconds, pulling out his fingers and washing the white fluids coating them in the flow of the running shower. He was careful as he stood up, legs still a little shaky. Washing himself down felt weird, as he was overly conscious of his vagina and the way the sensation of being stretched open still lingered.

He didn't spend much more time in the shower much after that, and walked out and into the bedroom as usual. After all, this  _was_ the usual. He jerked off in the shower all the time.

The next step was to actually wear the skirt he had impulsively bought in the charity shop. He told both himself and Sam that it was only a way to look the part when they went to talk to some witnesses for a case. They were supposed to be insurance investigators, so his usual butch look wouldn't work as well.

Sam didn't seem convinced, but he didn't say anything. That was pretty much his entire policy on this whole sex-change thing. He did what he had to do to sell their covers when they were out in public and acted as if nothing had changed in private. Dean had to goad him into making any kind of comment or joke. It was... nice, Dean guessed. Thoughtful, definitely, even though it didn't really make Dean any more comfortable. Joking was his go-to coping mechanism. Sam's silent respect only made him feel like this was a bigger deal that it really was.

Just like wearing a skirt wasn't a big deal. He just... wanted to try how it felt. (He did go back to a department store to buy himself some tights, because shaving his whole legs wasn't something he wanted to do. And rocking a skirt with unshaved legs kind of went against the idea that he was wearing it to blend in in the first place.)

And it actually felt... nice. Lighter than wearing jeans, allowing him a freer range of movements. (To an extent. Sam had to nudge him as they were seated on one of the witnesses' couch so that he would close his legs.) It felt even better without the tights on, which Dean figured out when they went back to their motel room to wait for nightfall before they broke into the cemetary to salt and burn the local vengeful spirit.

Sam avoided his gaze a lot during that evening, but he also didn't say anything. Dean knew the skirt thing was weird. Most of the time he shed his feminine clothes as soon as they were alone, reverting to sweatpants and old t-shirts. He would have to put on jeans again went they went out at night. But for now... it felt nice. Fun. It looked good and it was comfortable and... well. There weren't a lot of things about this situation that were comfortable, so couldn't he enjoy this one without overthinking it?

Three weeks into the spell, Dean's stomach started hurting. At first he thought he might have eaten something bad, but it wasn't the same kind of pain. Then he found blood in his boxers.

_Fuck fuck fuck_ .

He'd known the day would come, because Elena's potion was  _very_ thorough, but knowing it in theory hadn't meant that it had actually felt  _real_ .

This was very real. At least they were back in their motel room and not in a witness's house. Having to excuse himself to change his underwear would have been a lot more awkward in that situation. It also explained why Dean had felt so horny the past three days.

“I need to go to the store,” Dean grumbled.

Sam hummed, barely looking up from his laptop. The thing they were hunting was apparently only talked about in some African legends, so finding a way to kill it had been slightly more difficult than expected. “Beer run?”

“Yeah,” Dean easily agreed, happy for the excuse.

Finding the personal hygiene section of the local supermarket hadn't been an issue. The problem was that Dean was then faced with a lot more options than he knew what to do with.

He didn't know how he felt about the idea of tampons, because sticking a wad of cotton in his vagina and carrying it around all day was just... uncomfortable.

So, pads. Was he supposed to get the normal ones? Bigger ones? Was the fact that there were special packs for the night something he should be worried about?

He took a pack of the bigger size, figuring it was better to be safe than story, then was struck by the thought that the pads wouldn't fit inside of his boxers and that he would have to by some panties after all.

Fuck his life and fuck Elena's potions.

In the end, he bought the menstrual pads, a pack of three pairs of black panties, some painkillers, and turned around last minute to grab a six-pack of beer as well.

Had to keep up his cover right?

He didn't look the cashier in the eye when he paid for his items, even though the middle-aged woman didn't seem particularly interested in his selection. Dean knew he had nothing to be ashamed off. This was all natural and blah blah blah. Except it _wasn't_ natural, not for him. It was fucking witchcraft and it fucking hurt.

As soon as he was back in the motel room, Dean settled at the table, opened a beer and used it to wash down one of the painkillers.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, looking at him over the screen of his laptop.

“Just peachy. You find how to kill this thing yet?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“Maybe? I'm not sure if that's good enough, Sammy.”

Dean had thought that it would become more bearable as time went by. He'd thought that he would get used to his new body, that it would get easier not to frown when Sam called him _Dee_ in public or when guys in the street looked him up and down.

Instead, it just grated on his nerves more and more. At first it had been weird, confusing. Then there had been a short while where it had been... almost fun. He'd been able to see it as a sort of experiment, and he'd played with it, hyping up his female persona as some sort of game. But now it just felt heavy. He was tired of not recognizing himself in the mirror, tired of the offended looks he got when he dared act like normal in this new body, like no one had ever seen a woman chew with her mouth open or stare at a waitress' ass. He was tired of pretending, tired of being judged, and tired of this fucking _body_ that didn't belong to him.

Still a month and a half. At least.

Even hunting was weird now, because he was used to being taller, larger. It was also very frustrating that every monster they fought always immediately went for him, like being female per definition made him the easy target. So he'd taught some monsters a lesson or two about sexism. At least there was that.

Sam obviously noticed that something was wrong. His puppy eyes had basically been trained on Dean ever since the potion had hit, and they only intensified as soon as Dean's mood turned sour.

“Quit it, Sam. I'm fine. Just... tired of this fucking spell. But there's nothing we can do, right? So leave it alone.”

“Maybe we can't reverse it, but you could still _talk_ about it, you know?”

“It's not because I'm a chick now that you get more chick flick moments. Don't even try.”

“Yeah, but that's the thing, Dean. You're not _a chick_ , like you say. You just have the body of a woman and are forced to interact with the world like you're one, and don't try to bullshit me because I _know_ it's not easy for you, I have eyes.”

“Yeah, well. Still doesn't change the fact that there's nothing to be done about it.”

Sam frowned, looking thoughtful. It was the kind of expression that indicated he'd just had an idea that would probably take some time to work through.

Dean left him to it, instead starting the series of pull-ups and push-ups he'd begun doing every evening to compensate for this new body's lower upper-body strength.

Dean hadn't been so dilligent about keeping in shape since his dad had been around to tell him off for not doing it, so the activity brought back some weird memories. At the same time, it allowed him to genuinely feel _in_ his body, in control of it, despite whatever form it took.

So yeah, Dean had a woman's body now. But as long as nobody tried to talk to him, and as long as he had the fire in his muscles to focus on, he could ignore that. It was fine.

“What's this?” Dean asked, looking at the item Sam had just handed him. It vaguely looked like the sports bra that Dean always wore when they went outside, and he wondered if this was a jab at him for not washing his underwear enough.

“It's... uh.” Sam looked... embarrassed? Awkward, at least. “A binder.”

“A binder?”

“For your...” He gestured vaguely towards Dean. “Chest.”

Dean frowned. “And you had to buy me one because...?”

“Look, it's not like a bra or something. It's to... to flatten it.”

“What the fuck?”

Sam looked towards the ceiling, probably trying to find his words as much as not to snap at Dean for his lack of helpfulness.

Sue him. _He_ was the confused one in this conversation.

“A binder is a garment that transgender men use to make their chest look flatter. More masculine.”

Dean stared at the piece of fabric in his hand, which basically looked like some sort of black tank top.

“Okay. So why did you buy me one?”

Sam threw his hands in the air. “Oh, I don't know, because I like throwing around money we don't have! Think for _two seconds,_ Dean. I bought you one because Elena's potion is making you miserable. Because you've started flinching every time someone calls you _Miss_ on the street. Because it feels really uncomfortable to have to call you _Dee_ when we're out and I keep messing it up.”

“This isn't going to make me a dude again.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You're already a dude. That's the whole point. But it can make you... Look like more of one. At least a little. I don't know. You don't have to wear it, I just... I just thought it would help.”

Sam's voice nearly broke over the end of his sentence. Dean suddently realized how helpless Sam was feeling in this situation. Taking care of each other was what they did. What they lived for. When there was nothing that they could do... It felt wrong. Painful.

So Sam was trying to help.

Dean still felt like there was something not quite right about his brother's reactions, though. Sure, this spell was a pain in the ass, and Dean could admit that he'd been acting in a pretty foul manner because of it, but it wasn't like they hadn't ever been in annoying magic-related situations before. It almost felt like there was... some personal stake for Sam in all of this.

But Sam hadn't said anything, and Dean wasn't going to ask. His brother wouldn't expect him to.

Instead, he wordlessly stood up, binder in hand, and went into the bathroom.

He'd been avoiding looking at himself in a mirror for a few days. Couldn't muster up any awe or curiosity anymore for this too-familiar and still foreign face that stared back at him. He looked now. Tried to see himself behind every little difference that amounted up to _too much_ , to something that had become close to unbearable.

He undressed. As usual, he had ditched his sports bra when arriving at the motel, still not used to the feeling of it over his chest. The fact that the binder looked even more constricting did _not_ make it sound like an inviting alternative. Still. He ought to try. For Sam's sake, but mostly for his own. He didn't know if hiding his chest would be enough for people to treat him as a guy again, but he did know that the novelty of grabbing his own boobs had worn out a long time ago.

Pulling the thing on was not exactly a pleasant experience, but Dean figured it out. It was indeed constrictive, though it still allowed him to breathe. Once properly in place, he was glad to noticed that he didn't actively _feel_ the fact that his breasts were basically being squished against his torso.

He looked up towards the mirror.

It looked... It looked like Dean was wearing a weird tank top, instead of underwear. But his chest did look... flat. Almost normal, if not for the fact that Dean's usual body had broader shoulders. He turned to the side, looking for the telling bulge that insisted on changing his silouhette and making it so recognizable as female, but could barely see any curve at all.

Dean grabbed his t-shirt, one of his old ones, from the male section of a department store somewhere. He puts it on, then looked at himself again.

It's not perfect. Dean's face is still slightly too thin, slightly too soft, so it's not perfect. But Dean can sort of see himself again in his reflection, in the eyes that never changed and the way his gaze can slide down past his collarbones without catching on anything.

So maybe Sam's idea had some merit. He braced himself, then went back into the motel room. Stopping a few feet away from his brother, he ironically spun around, showing himself off.

“How does it feel?” Sam asked, ever the worried type.

Dean shrugged. “It's a little weird. I can feel it when I breathe too deep.” He did exactly that, feeling the fabric stretch to accommodate the rise and fall of his chest. “But it's okay.”

“Okay. Do you...” He trailed off, unconsciously biting his lower lip.

“Do I want to wear it? I don't know. Don't know if it's gonna be enough to... pass. Or whatever. But I guess I'll try?”

A shy smile. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds good.”

Dean could let it go. _Should_ let it go. This isn't something he feels comfortable talking about, and if Sam had wanted to talk about it he would have.

But he couldn't just ignore ir either, could he? Because protecting each other was all they had.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mmh?”

“How did you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know to get me this? That it'd help.”

Sam shrugged. “I didn't. Not really. I just... guessed.”

“I didn't even know those things existed.” Dean could already feel he was treading unsteady ground, and told himself this was as far as he'd push.

“Like I said. A lot of trans people use them.”

There was a pause. Dean looked at Sam without saying anything, giving him the choice of where this conversation was going to go next.

But the fact that the silence lasted for more than a second was enough to indicated that _something_ needed to be said. Both of them knew it.

“I was doing some research,” Sam explained, not looking him in the eye. Of course there had been _research_ , this was Sam. “Before this.” He gestured towards Dean. “Before Elena.”

_That_ , Dean hadn't expected. Because “before Elena” could mean a whole range of thing from three months ago to three years. He wanted to ask, but held his tongue. He was already overstepping by having initiated this conversation, he needed to rein himself in and let Sam go at his own pace.

“Research on the transgender community. I mean. Yeah, obviously. But that's why I knew what a binder is. And I figured... Remember how Elena said something about your situation being the opposite of what her potions were for?”

It did ring a bell, vaguely, so Dean nodded.

“They're meant to allow people to have the body they feel is aligned with their true gender, right? They're meant to ease the discomfort created by the fact that the way you feel and how people see you don't match.”

Dean nodded again. He kept noticing the care with which Sam chose his words, and thought of how much blunter he would have been if he'd had to talk about the same topic, of how many of the terms  _he_ knew would probably sound offensive to some, because Dean had never thought he would need to learn new ones.

“With you, it went the other way. Instead of fixing it, it created that discomfort. That mismatch between who you are and how people see you.”

Thinking of the past month, Dean could agree that that description felt right. He hadn't realized, before his body had changed, how much of his confidence and of his sense of self was based on how others percieved him and interacted with him.

“I figured... I figured you're kind of stuck in the same situation as someone who's trans? In a weird way? And obviously it's not the same, because you know what your real body's like, and you know it's temporary but I still figured... I figured that you're a guy, and so you want to look like a guy, and that this might help.”

Sam stopped. He looked down at his feet, then at the ceiling. “This is gonna be a really awkward conversation, isn't it?” he asked drily.

“Sam, you don't have to-”

“I know.” He smiled. “I know I don't have to, but I got this far so...”

Dean sat down on the second bed, facing his brother. In the narrow space between the two pieces of furniture, their knees could almost touch.

Dean didn't like emotional moments. They made him uncomfortable, because he didn't know how to react during them. Allowing himself to be vulnerable was equivalent in his mind to letting himself get killed.

But he knew he needed to be there for Sam. He knew that this might be more important than he'd expected, and that Sam needed him. There wasn't anything Dean wouldn't do for his brother.

“I don't think I'm... like you,” Sam started, looking at their knees instead of towards Dean. “When it comes to gender. I mean... You're so... confident. In your own identity. You overplay masculinity all the time, but it doesn't feel jarring. It feels like it comes naturally. Like you know who you are.”

Dean probably could have argued about the  _overplay_ part, but he wasn't sure it was the kind of hill he wanted to die on. He knew he sometimes... compensated. Played up his love of women to avoid thinking about other things, and built himself a persona in the process. It was strange, in a way, that Sam could see right through that and still call Dean  _confident_ . Dean was the person he'd needed to be. In order to survive a lonely childhood, in order to thrive in the hunter's life and its constant danger. Sam had always been the one who dared break the unspoken rules, who tried to find another way. Wasn't  _that_ confidence?

“It's not like that for me. It doesn't feel natural. It feels like it's always shifting. I look at you now and it looks like you feel so uncomfortable in this new body, and all I can think about is that I'm barely comfortable in the one I have right now.”

Dean had pushed. Dean had _wanted_ to know, he'd wanted an answer, but he didn't know what to do with what Sam was telling him.

“What does that mean?”

“Honestly?” Sam's smile was self-depricating and Dean hated it. This was an expression he knew well. He'd seen it throughout all of their childhood every time Sam came home from school after a day of being bullied and called a weirdo, everytime he asked their dad for something simple and normal and got the answer that those things weren't for _people like them_ , every time he'd been called a freak or called himself one, because of hunting, because of his visions, because of _who he was_. “Not much. I don't think it _can_ mean much, not with the lives we've got.”

“Sam-”

“No, listen. I've thought about this, okay? I've thought about this for months. My relationship to gender is... complicated. Weird. And I think that... maybe that puts me on the trans spectrum. Somewhere. But I'm not a woman. I don't want to transition. And if I don't... it's just easier to let people think what they're gonna think, you know? And maybe what they think isn't the truth, isn't _my_ truth, but it's my choice to tell them or not, and I've decided not to.”

“Okay.” Dean looked at himself, at his too-loose shirt and the new sweatpants he'd bought because Sam had insisted he couldn't keep wearing his old ones all the time without washing them. He looked at his chest and the way it felt _new_ to see is so flat, the weird kind of relief that that sight brought. He thought of everything Sam had done for him in the past weeks, how careful he'd been, stopping himself from making any kind of jokes because even if Dean had been gauding him into them he knew that they might still hurt, maybe not right then, but later on, on days like today when Dean's new body felt like it was seeping with open wounds. And here Sam was, looking at him with eyes that begged him not to fall into pity, that begged him to actually listen and understand, and Dean couldn't do anything else. He couldn't _help_. Even though that was his job, because he was the big brother and Sammy was everything. Despite all that, he still couldn't help. “Okay.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It wasn't... It wasn't that I didn't-”

“Don't even go there, Sam. This isn't... It's about you. It's personal. I get that. I'm not gonna get mad that you kept it a secret or whatever. You had every right to. But... I'm glad you told me. You gotta know that.”

Sam smiled then, small and shy, but a smile all the same. Dean had wanted to do more. To be more. But this was something. Maybe it was even enough, at least for now. “Okay.”

“Okay. Chick flick moment over!” Dean proclaimed before letting himself fall backward on the bed. Sam tried to push his feet out of the way when Dean put them up beside him, and Dean kicked him in retaliation, leading them to play-wrestle like they hadn't since being both teenagers.

Dean got out of breath too quickly and had to surrender, wincing at the way his chest was constricted under the binder. That meant he wouldn't be able to wear it when they were out hunting. Actually... that wasn't too bad. He didn't need it when it was just him and Sam and whatever monster they were chasing. Those moments were when he was closest to feeling like himself, present in his body, adrenaline rushing through his veins, and Sammy by his side.

In the end, the effects of Elena's potion lasted for three months and 22 days. They dissipated just as quickly and as thoroughly as they had set in. Dean had felt tired all morning, and had settled for a nap right after lunch. He woke up to the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed across the stomach, and it took him a minute to figure out that that was because his pants had become much too tight.

He changed immediately, taking the time to stare at his own face in the mirror, to rub his hands over the familiar stubble across his cheeks. He laughed aloud, an expression of pure joy that amplified when he recognized the lower tones of his old voice.

As soon as Sam came back from his trip to the local library (the thing they were after was mostly likely a ghost, so he'd been digging into the city records for potential gruesome deaths), Dean was gesturing at himself.

“I am back in the game!”

Sam smiled, with genuine happiness and relief. “That's great. So, how are we celebrating? Burgers after the hunt's done? Hitting up a bar or three?”

“I am going to get laid! It has been way too long.”

Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes at his antics. “Right.” They both knew that Sam had been celibate for a lot longer than three months and wasn't any worse for it, but they also both knew that Dean wasn't Sam.

Dean was pretty sure he didn't have to explain how much he'd missed being able to flirt with women, even more than the physical act of sex. Sam was too smart for his own good, he probably understood.

“It's good to have you back, man,” the younger brother said, clapping Dean onto his shoulder.

And it was good. It was really really good. So good that Dean couldn't help but think about what Sam had revealed, the day he'd bought Dean's binder, about how he didn't seem to experience the sense of _rightness_ that Dean now felt at being back inside himself. But there wasn't any bitterness in Sam's eyes, not any jealousy. Only light. He was living his life, as well as he could, just like Dean was. That was their truth, and it didn't matter if it was a little imperfect.

It was good all the same.


End file.
